A FEW BUSINESS MATTERS.
“Jessie’s a first-rate hand to drive a bargain—you ought to have heard
her beat Mr. Simpson down, this afternoon,” said Oscar, at the
tea-table, one evening.
“I didn’t beat him down, nor ask him to take one cent less—he put his
price down of his own accord,” replied Jessie.
“Oh yes, that’s the beauty of it,” retorted Oscar. “She didn’t say
hardly anything, but she acted it out completely, and she got the dress
for her own price. I call that the perfection of beating down. I’m going
to get you to make my purchases, hereafter, Jessie; for you know folks
say I’m extravagant when I buy anything.”
“I think it would be a good plan for you to get somebody to do your
trading,” replied Jessie. “You gave seventy-five cents for that flimsy
cravat, last week, and I’ll engage to buy the silk and make a better one
for one-half the money.”
“Oh well, don’t say another word about _that_,” replied Oscar, whose
cravat speculation was not a very pleasant thing to dwell upon. “What
can’t be cured must be endured. But I wont get shaved in that way again,
for I’ve engaged you to do my shopping. And remember you must beat them
down just as you would for yourself.”
“But I don’t make a practice of beating the shopkeepers down, for
myself,” said Jessie. “If a man asks more for a thing than I can afford
to give, I tell him so; and if he has a mind to offer it for less, very
well, but if he doesn’t, I can’t trade.”
“Yes, you understand how to do it,” said Oscar, with a chuckle.
“Do you call that beating a man down, Mrs. Page?” inquired Jessie.
“No, I think that is fair enough,” replied Mrs. Page. “I don’t approve
of beating a man down below a fair price, on the one hand, and I don’t
approve of giving more for an article than it is worth, on the other. I
try to act on these principles, when I am trading. If I can’t afford to
pay a fair price for a thing, I conclude that I can’t afford to buy it.”
“That is just the way I feel,” added Jessie. “But to tell the truth, I
was almost ashamed to take that dress pattern, although I don’t think I
was to blame. It came to just nine shillings, and there was nothing else
in the store cheaper, that suited me. But I could not afford to go over
a dollar for a dress, and I told Mr. Simpson so. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘it was
no matter about the money now—I could pay any time when I had it.’ I
told him I made it a rule never to run in debt for anything. Then he
said I might have the dress for eight and three pence—”
“You mean a dollar and thirty-seven cents—we have no shillings and pence
in our currency,” interrupted Marcus, who always set his face against
this common but very un-American way of reckoning.
“Yes, a dollar and thirty-seven,” continued Jessie, “and then he said
he’d take a dollar and a quarter, which was just what the goods cost
him. But I told him I could not go over a dollar, and then he proposed
to split the difference, and let me have it for a dollar and nine
pence—I mean a dollar and twelve cents. But the trimmings would make the
price count up so, that I concluded I couldn’t go one cent over a
dollar, and I started off, and got as far as the door-steps, when he
called me back, and told me I might have it for a dollar. I had no idea
at first that he would let me have it at that price, and I didn’t ask
him to take off a cent, nor think of beating him down; but I declare I
felt really ashamed, when he called me back. If it cost him a dollar and
a quarter, it seems mean for me to buy it for a dollar. What do you
think of it, Mrs. Page—did I do wrong?”
“No, under the circumstances I can’t say that you did wrong,” replied
Mrs. Page. “If you could not afford to give over a dollar, it was right
for you to stop at that mark; and if Mr. Simpson fell of his own accord
to that price, that was his own affair. If you had had plenty of money,
or if you had coaxed him down to a dollar, the case would have been
different.”
“Merchants sometimes find it for their advantage to sell an article for
less than it costs, rather than not dispose of it,” observed Marcus.
“That was probably the case with Mr. Simpson. Perhaps the dress pattern
was the last of a lot.”
“No, it was from a new lot, just received,” replied Jessie.
“Then,” continued Marcus, “perhaps he thought you might go somewhere
else and buy, and he should lose your trade; or perhaps he was a little
short for money; or perhaps he knew you fancied the dress, and in the
kindness of his heart he determined you should have it, at some price or
other. He had a reason, no doubt, for doing as he did.”
“Well, I can’t bear to be thought mean,” continued Jessie; “but poor
folks have to put up with many things they dislike, and that is one of
them.”
“There was nothing mean in doing as you did,” said Miss Lee, “and I do
not believe Mr. Simpson thought so. I don’t approve of driving a hard
bargain, any more than I do of paying extravagant prices for things.
There is a golden mean between the two, which honest people ought to
seek after. I think you were wise in refusing to run in debt. Spending
money before we get it is one great source of extravagance, and keeps
many people poor all their lives.”
“Everybody ought to get out of debt just as quick as they can, hadn’t
they?” inquired Ronald.
“Certainly,” said Miss Lee.
“Then, mother, I wish you would let me have fifty cents—I want to pay my
debts,” continued Ronald.
“Your debts! Pray what do you owe?” inquired Mrs. Page.
“I owe a boy fifty cents, and he’s dunned me for it two or three times,”
replied Ronald.
“Who is he, and how came you to owe him fifty cents?” inquired Mrs.
Page.
“The fellow is Joe Baker,” replied Ronald. “I lost my Reader, about a
month ago, and as he didn’t use his, he wanted to sell it to me, so I
bought it.”
“How came you to lose your Reader?” inquired Marcus.
“I don’t know—I never could tell what became of it,” replied Ronald.
“Why didn’t you come to me or to Marcus, if you wanted a new one?”
inquired Mrs. Page.
“I didn’t like to—I thought you would think I was careless, to lose my
old one,” was the reply.
“And so you ran into debt, with nothing to pay, trusting I would foot
the bill some time or other?” said Mrs. Page.
“I thought I could sell some maple sugar, and raise the money, but——”
the family ate up nearly all the sugar, he intended to say, but did not.
“When did you agree to pay Baker?” inquired Marcus.
“Oh, he said I might pay him any time when I had the money,” replied
Ronald.
“And he has already asked you for it two or three times?” inquired
Marcus.
“Yes, sir, he duns me every time he sees me,” said Ronald.
“You are experiencing some of the pleasures of being in debt,” remarked
Miss Lee.
“I hope it will be a good lesson to you,” said Mrs. Page.
“Will you let me have the fifty cents?” inquired Ronald.
“I will talk with you about that, some other time,” replied Mrs. Page,
and the subject was dropped.
Mrs. Page and Marcus, after talking over Ronald’s financial
embarrassment, concluded it would be better not to relieve him at once,
but to let him bear the burden of his debt until he could earn the money
to pay it up. They thought that by adopting this course the transaction
would make a deeper impression on his mind, and perhaps serve as a
useful lesson to him as long as he lived. Joseph Baker, who held the
demand against Ronald, attended the academy, and Marcus, after
consulting him, effected a settlement on the following terms: Ronald
gave his promissory note to Joseph for the amount due, running three
months from the date of the purchase; and Joseph, in return, gave a
receipt in full for the demand. Ronald’s note ran as follows:
_Highburg, March 12, 185—._
_50 cents._
_Three months after date, for value received, I promise to pay to
Joseph Baker, or order, Fifty Cents, with interest._
RONALD D. PAGE.
As the note was dated back one month, Ronald had but two months in which
to raise the money. He objected to putting the note on interest, the
amount was so small; but Marcus told him this was the proper way to do,
and added that possibly the note would not be paid when due, in which
case the interest would be larger.
The receipt Ronald received was as follows:
_Highburg, March 12, 185—._
RONALD D. PAGE,
_To_ JOSEPH BAKER, _Dr._
_For one second-hand “Reader,”_ _50 cents._
_Received payment by note_, JOSEPH BAKER.
Marcus told Joseph that if he should happen to want the money at any
time before the note was due, to bring it to him, and he would
“discount” it—that is, give him the money for the note; in which case
Ronald would owe the debt to Marcus, instead of to Joseph. This transfer
could be made, because the note was payable “to Joseph Baker, _or
order_;” and all Joseph would have to do, to make it the property of
another, would be, to write his name across the back of the note.
Jessie’s rule, never to buy anything she could not pay for at the time,
is a wise one, for a person situated as she was. She had another
excellent business habit, which all might imitate with profit. She kept
a strict account of all her money transactions. Every cent she received
or expended was noted down in a little book kept for the purpose. She
thus cultivated habits of order and economy, had the satisfaction of
knowing just where her money went, and could always tell what any
particular article cost her, and how long it lasted, by turning to her
book.
But Jessie’s account book was after all a small affair. The columns of
dollars and cents, on both the Cr. and Dr. side, increased slowly; for
the reason that dollars and cents were a very scarce article with her.
The little pittance which her mother was able to spare her, was all the
money that passed through her hands, and this, with strict economy and
self-denial, was barely sufficient to clothe her decently. No one knew
how sadly she was sometimes straitened for money, for she never
complained of her many disappointments and deprivations.
But though Jessie did not complain, she often sighed in secret for the
day when she should be free from dependence and poverty—when she should
become a help, instead of being a burden, to her mother. A door of
deliverance opened to her sooner than she anticipated. One day, on
returning from school, she found her uncle Morrison at the house,
waiting to see her. He lived about forty miles distant, and as he had
but seldom visited Highburg, when Jessie’s parents were living there,
his appearance was quite unexpected. He remained with the family over
night, and in the evening explained to his niece the object of his
visit. About six months previous to this time, he had buried his only
child, a daughter. His wife had been very low-spirited ever since, and
both of them deeply felt their loss. They now wished to adopt Jessie in
place of the lost child, receiving her into their home as a daughter,
and lavishing upon her the care and affection of parental hearts. They
knew something of Jessie’s amiable disposition, varied accomplishments,
and excellent character, and judged that she was not unworthy of the
great favor they sought to confer upon her.
Jessie did not instantly accept the offer, with profuse thanks, as Mr.
Morrison expected she would, but she promised to give her answer the
next morning. It was no trifling struggle which she passed through that
night, in coming to a decision on her uncle’s proposition. If she
accepted it, she would at once be delivered from griping poverty, would
cease to be an expense to her mother, and would enjoy the comforts and
advantages of a permanent home. If this had been all, she might have
easily decided the question. But there was something more to be taken
into the account. Mr. Morrison, who was a large, jovial and
good-hearted, though rather coarse and uncultivated man, kept the tavern
in the village where he lived. Jessie had once visited him, and had a
vivid recollection of his house, which was pervaded from top to bottom
with a mingled flavor of alcohol and tobacco, and was the favorite
resort, especially during the evening and the Sabbath, of a set of idle
and not very prepossessing men, whose low and profane conversation
sometimes penetrated beyond the piazza and the bar-room. Mr. Morrison,
though apparently an honest, well-meaning man, seemed to have no
religious principle. He was not a church-goer, but spent the Sabbath
pretty much as he did other days. He relished the coarse jest, and the
story spiced with vulgarity or profaneness, as much as did any of the
idlers who frequented his house; and Jessie had a suspicion that he
slyly relished his own liquors, too, but of this she was not positive.
Such was the man who proposed to become a father to Jessie. He was
doubtless kindly disposed, had ample means, and would do all for her
that he had promised. His wife was an excellent woman, with whom Jessie
would have esteemed it a privilege to live. The temptation was strong,
but the next morning Jessie was prepared to give a firm and decided
answer to her uncle. She told him she thought she had better remain
where she was—that she was with kind friends, and should soon be fitted
to support herself by teaching. Mr. Morrison was surprised at her
decision, and tried to reason her out of it, pointing out the advantages
she would enjoy, if she went to live with him. Mistaking the ground of
her refusal, he told her that if she did not wish to be dependent upon
any one, he would give her a first-rate education, after which she might
have the privilege of supporting herself by teaching, if she preferred.
But his arguments and persuasions all failed, and he was obliged to go
home without her. He was not without hope, however, that she would yet
“come to her senses,” as he expressed it—for he evidently thought she
was beside herself in rejecting such a fine offer; and he told her he
would come for her at any time within a few weeks, if she would write.
She did write, to thank her aunt for her kindness, and to express her
regret that she felt compelled to decline the liberal offer, and that
was the end of the matter. She preferred poverty and toil, in her
present position, rather than money and ease, coupled with influences
that might work disastrously upon her character and her happiness.